


Musketeering your Courage (AKA Swash-unbuckling)

by AnonEhouse, blakefancier



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Happy Ending, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 23:59:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1324111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/AnonEhouse, https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakefancier/pseuds/blakefancier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Tony Stark had the role of Aramis, the often drunk Musketeer, and D'artagnan, the poor but noble defender of the weak, was Steve Rogers?</p>
<p>Tony is drunk and affectionate, Steve is sober and fond of Tony. Things work out.</p>
<p>(This is not listed as crossover with the Three Musketeers, because it would be disappointingly misleading for fen of Dumas' books, or even any of the movie adaptations.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Musketeering your Courage (AKA Swash-unbuckling)

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

Steve was taking an early evening walk through the seedy part of town, as always on the lookout for ruffians trying to do harm to an innocent. He chanced a look in a particularly disgusting alley, better lit than most due to the open windows of the buildings to either side. That's when he saw a fellow musketeer, obviously in distress. His clothes were once rich lace and velvet, now grimy and worn. From the look of it, the only possessions he had taken care of were his sword and his musket.

The man staggered along the alley, head down, one hand trailing the wall. He muttered, "Where is that door? There was a door last time... have to find it..."

Steve came forward. "Are you all right?"

The man straightened, with drunken dignity holding onto the ghost of past grace. "I am quite well, sir. May I enquire as to your own health?" He doffed his hat, clumsily and then poked at the broken feather dangling from it. "It is a fine evening for a stroll, is it not?"

Steve's eyes widened. "Tony? You're drunk!" They had fought together before breaking up to go their separate ways. He had never expected to find Tony fallen so low. The last he'd seen of him, Tony had been riding an elegant horse harnessed in royal purple draperies, saying he was off to his family's castle, or was it a tower?

"Am I?" Tony looked down at himself and took a staggering step sideways. "Why, sir, I do believe you are correct!" He peered at Steve, blinking. "Is it... could it be... why, yes, it is, Rogers the in...hic.. corruptable..." He made another awkward bow, and didn't quite fall over. "Saved any _innocents_ lately?"

Steve took Tony by the arm, firmly. "I have a room not far from here. The bed's lumpy, but clean. I think rest would do you a world of good."

"I was looking for a door. Does your room have a door? Doors are very important." Tony blinked owlishly at Steve.

"It does, indeed." Steve led Tony out of the alley and towards the inn. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for a door, didn't I say that?" Tony muttered, "I thought I said that." He spoke louder, "There was something I was supposed to do when I found the right door." He stopped, pulling Steve to a halt with him as he scratched at his ill-kept beard. "I think I was supposed to kill someone, but I can't be certain. Either that or I was going to buy a bottle of absinthe. One or the other."

"You've had enough to drink." Steve frowned and spoke seriously, "You're a mess, Tony. But don't worry, I'll get you cleaned up and into a nice warm bed. Won't that be nice?"

"Possibly... I'll try anything once." Tony gave Steve a crooked grin, grabbed him by the collar and kissed him soundly, then released him, all before Steve could think how to react. "How big is this bed of yours?"

Steve opened and closed his mouth a few times before he could reply. Tony was always exuberant, but he hadn't expected to be kissed. "I... I... It's not very big."

"I can't put you out of your bed, Rogers. I'm sure we can find a way to fit." Tony's smile turned sly.

"We can share." Steve licked his lips, tasting absinthe and an odd metallic tang, like exotic fruit mixed with an old copper coin. He shook his head and resumed leading Tony towards the inn. "Why did you do that? Why did you... you... do what you did?"

"Kiss you?" Tony peered at Steve. "Why not? "

"That's not an answer, Tony. It... You shouldn't do that." It wasn't the kiss of friendship, Steve was quite sure of that.

Tony leaned close to Steve, close enough for his breath to make Steve feel half-drunk from the fumes. "Let me tell you a big secret, Rogers... the things you shouldn't do are the things you should do." He nodded solemnly. "Words to live by, my friend."

There was no point expecting a drunk to make sense. Best to go along with his fancies. "Yes... I'll try to remember that." 

 

Once they reached the inn, Steve tossed a coin to the innkeeper before he led Tony through the main room and up the stairs to his quarters. He'd already paid, and could invite a friend if he liked, of course, but he thought he might need a little good will if Tony became noisy. He released Tony's arm and turned to lock the door, feeling relieved that he now had some semblance of control.

Tony sprawled loosely in the room's one chair, nearly tripping over his sword. He made an irritated noise as he wrestled the scabbard and sword off and then tried to remove his boots, but he kept missing, probably because the broken feather on his hat kept falling into his eyes. Steve watched in bemusement. Tony complained, "Can't understand it... had them off only the other day..."

Steve removed his scabbard and sword and hung them from nails on the wall, along with his hat. He knelt in front of Tony. "Here, let me do that."

"You, sir, are a true gentleman." While Steve removed his boots, Tony sat back and looked up at the ceiling, with a serious look on his face. "There's a fly on your ceiling... shall I shoot it for you?"

"NO!" Steve tugged off Tony's left boot. "No, the fly isn't bothering anyone." The right boot followed. "As a matter of fact, perhaps you should give me your musket."

Tony stared at Steve, eyes wide in shock. "I couldn't do _that_! I wouldn't...hic... be a musketeer then! If you like flies, I won't bother it." His expression turned to worry. "Is it just _that_ fly, or all flies? I swatted one the other day."

No, not all flies. Just that one." The innkeeper would not take kindly to having his walls shot up if Tony saw, or imagined he saw, vermin. "Please, let me see your musket?"

Tony fumbled the musket up, aiming it somewhere around Steve's heart. "Can you see it now?"

Steve gulped and kept his voice steady with an effort, as he said, "Yes, but I think you should point that somewhere else."

"Oh." Tony pointed it at the ceiling, apparently remembered the fly, and turned to aim it out the window. "I'm not really a very good shot. But I'm very good with my sword!" Tony put the musket down on the floor and reached for his sword. "Shall I demonstrate?"

"No! No..." Steve looked around quickly, his gaze pausing on the bed. "I'd really just like to go to bed," he said quickly.

Tony nodded. "Right... good... that's the bed, yes? Looks like a bed?" Tony managed to get his hat off, staggered over to the bed, fell across it sideways, and immediately began snoring.

Steve sighed. He tugged Tony more neatly onto the mattress and loosened his clothing enough so he wouldn't strangle in torn lace and then he considered what to do. After a moment he decided sitting up all night in the chair watching over Tony would be foolish, so he stripped and slipped into bed. Tony's snoring caught for an instant, and then he turned over, an arm draping over Steve's rump.

Steve tensed, afraid to move and wake Tony. He had always been rather fond of Tony, some might say _too_ fond, and it was embarrassing to realize just how that fondness was expressing itself. Steve bit his lip and clenched the pillow. It would go away. It always did.

Tony shuffled closer to Steve, murmuring, "Ah, mon cherie, your skin is so soft...mmmm..."

"Tony... you're dreaming." Steve should have expected this. Tony probably hadn't slept alone since he was a child.

Tony peeled one rather bloodshot eye open. "Are you dreaming, too?"

"Yes. Yes, I am."

"Mmm..." Tony pulled Steve's arm around his waist. "One should not waste a good dream, monsieur."

Steve stiffened even further. In more ways than one. "I think I should sleep on the floor."

Tony pouted. "You don't like me... or maybe it's my clothes..." Tony turned his head towards his shoulder and sniffed. "Yes, that's it." He pushed up into a sitting position, bracing himself against Steve's rump and chest as he did so. He started taking off his jacket and shirt. "I bathed only last week..." He tilted his head to one side. "Does it count as a bath when your landlady pours a bucket of water on your head?"

"I... I don't know." Steve squeezed his eyes closed, so he wouldn't see Tony's bare chest, see the scars and muscle he knew was there. 

Tony finished undressing after a noisy struggle with his cuffs, and flopped back down on top of Steve. "Come now, let us be good comrades-in-arms, mon ami."

Steve opened his eyes. "We're already good comrades-in-arms, Tony."

"Good comrades help one another," Tony breathed softly into Steve's ear. He slid his hands down to Steve's erection. "Shall I help you?"

Steve groaned and arched against Tony's hands. "You shouldn't. Tony, it's wrong."

"It feels good." Tony ran his fingers the length of Steve's cock, then wrapped them around it. "It doesn't hurt anyone." He laughed. "And it doesn't even cost a sou. What could be wrong, Rogers?"

Steve moaned and fought not to spread his legs. "It should only... One should only make love to one's wife."

"We are told to love our fellow men, are we not?" Tony stroked Steve's cock with one hand, and rolled his balls with the other.

"You're drunk. You're drunk and randy."

Tony released Steve's cock. "I'm drunk, yes, monsieur, very drunk. If you had taken a moment to observe, you would see that I am not capable of molesting you against your will. I thought but to provide a hand of friendship." He turned his back to Steve. "I apologize for intruding upon your noble solitude."

Steve struggled to calm himself enough to speak. He took a deep breath. "Tony, I'm not like you. I can't... I've never..." He felt the heat of a blush.

Tony glanced back at Steve over his shoulder. "I have done many things, monsieur, but never yet have I taken advantage of the innocent or the unwilling, and you, sir, appear to be both. You are safe from my degrading touch. Good night." Tony turned away from Steve, back as stiff as his load of alcohol would allow.

Steve stared up at the ceiling. He felt guilty for offending Tony, who after all, had meant no harm. "I'm sorry."

"It was my mistake, Rogers." Tony closed his eyes. "When you make your confession, as I know you shall, don't be too hard on yourself. Truly, if any sin were committed, it was mine."

"When it comes to you, I can't help committing sins," Steve admitted softly.

Tony's only response was a soft snore.

Steve stared up at the ceiling and clenched his fists. He would not touch his erection. He would not defile himself that way. He would not imagine Tony touching him again, or kissing him, Tony's warm, soft lips parting... Steve bit his lip, hard.

***

Tony groaned and feebly tried to pull the covers over his head as morning sunlight streamed in the window, and birds cheerfully announced the new day. "Aghhh! ... No... nooooo... take it away..." Tony moaned weakly and tried to sit up, falling back with a groan. "I'm dying. Alors! M'aidez, mon brave!"

"You're not dying. You just had too much to drink yesterday." Steve's sympathy was less than it might have been had he been able to sleep.

In a pitiful tone, Tony said, "I beg of you, do not tell me I'm not dying, monsieur. It is only the hope of that which is keeping me alive." 

"You'll feel better after you've had something to eat."

Tony whimpered and made gagging noises. "For the Love of our Sweet Saviour, please do not say such things to a sick man. Perhaps a jack of ale?"

"That's why you're in this state. No, I think you should eat something." Steve grinned and stole all the blankets, leaving Tony to curl up like a pillbug, shivering. "Did you know that in some parts of Britain, they eat stuffed sheep's guts?"

Tony gave Steve a horrified look, jackknifed his way out of bed, and made it to the window, where he leaned out and retched. Fortunately Steve's room faced onto the gutter, which had seen far worse things.

Steve asked innocently, "Are you all right?"

Tony straightened, white-lipped, and wiped the beads of sweat from his brow. "Perfectly, monsieur." Tony staggered around the room, collecting his clothes. "I thank you for your gracious concern, but I must be going now."

"What?" Steve sat up. "Why? Tony, you're obviously unwell. Come back to bed." 

"I need a drink, Rogers." Tony got his shirt on after a moment's study. "I am perilously close to sobriety." Tony leaned against a wall and began to pull up his trousers. 

"There's nothing wrong with sobriety, Tony." Steve said softly, "You're ruining yourself."

"I was sober for most of my life." Tony fastened his trousers and found his boots with the stockings draped over them. "It didn't do me a sou's worth of good. At least when I'm drunk... I can forget."

Steve ignored his nudity to jump out of bed, and seize Tony's hands. "Drink only makes your problems worse. Tony, I'm your comrade-in-arms. I'll help you any way I can."

Tony winced, but only made a tentative effort to escape. "You could start by lowering your voice." Tony sighed. "Kindly allow me a glass of watered wine then, and perhaps a crust of dry bread. That's the most my stomach is likely to accept."

"Yes, of course. Why don't I go see about your bread and wine while you get back into bed?"

Tony gave Steve a tired smile. "You are a true comrade indeed. Thank you." Tony headed for the bed, slowly, detouring around patches of sunlight.

 

Steve dressed and went downstairs. When he returned he was carrying a tray of bread, fruit, and cheese, as well as watered wine and pomegranate juice. As he opened the door, a Tony-shaped lump under the bedcovers muttered, "Whoever invented morning should be shot... at dawn."

Steve couldn't help smiling. "Of course. Come, I've brought your wine."

Tony peeled his eyelids open, wincing perhaps a little less than before. "Thank you." He sat up, letting the sheets fall to his waist haphazardly. "Will you dine with me, monsieur?" 

"I brought enough for two." Steve set the tray on the bed and handed Tony a goblet of wine. He chose cheese and juice for himself.

Tony took several gulps of wine, then broke off a piece of dry bread and soaked it in wine before slowly chewing and swallowing it with the air of one taking care of a disagreeable chore. "I do not clearly recall last evening, Rogers. Did you rescue me, or am I arrested?"

Steve concentrated on the cheese in his hand. Anything to keep his gaze from straying to Tony's bare chest. "You're a fellow Musketeer, Tony. I rescued you, of course."

"Once again I am in your debt, monsieur." Tony made a halfway creditable attempt at a sitting bow. "I do hope I was not too... well, in my cups, I often offend."

Steve blushed bright red. "No, no. You did nothing to offend me."

Tony looked puzzled, but did not pursue the matter. "I'm glad of that. It would have been poor return for your kindness." Tony ate a few small grapes, and finished the goblet of wine. He smiled at Steve.

"It was no hardship." Steve kept sneaking glances at Tony, remembering the way his hands felt, touching him, stroking him. So gentle. For all his bluster and fierceness in battle, Tony had a gentle soul.

Tony looked up at Steve, a puzzled wrinkle forming on his brow.

Steve blushed again. He knew he sounded foolishly fond. "I'm glad I came across you in that alley." _Glad that no one else saw you vulnerable and took advantage of you._

Tony moved restlessly. For a moment, Steve worried that he might have read Steve's thoughts, or at least his feelings, from his voice, but luckily Tony was as self-centered as always, and merely asked, "Have you a chamber pot, monsieur?" 

Steve nodded. "Of course. It's under the bed." He paused and said, "And I prefer 'Steve' to 'monsieur.' After all, we are not strangers."

"Steve, then." Tony got out of bed, shivered slightly and located the chamberpot. Steve tried not to look as Tony bent down to reach under the bed, all smooth and lightly tanned across his back with his buttocks so prettily shaped and white as any maiden's breasts. He tried not to look as Tony straightened, and with that shameless nonchalance that Steve envied, held the pot with one hand and used the other to guide his cock. Tony closed his eyes and sighed in pleasure as he unburdened himself of last night's used liquor. The smell was sharp, foreign to Steve, who never drank to excess, and never drank absinthe at all. He tried not to look at Tony's cock. It was just a man's cock, pissing into a cheap china pot, nothing to be fascinated about.

He was still not trying to look when Tony opened his eyes and caught Steve's gaze, directed down at his hand, shaking the last drops free. "Do you need to use it, too, Steve?" Tony held out the china pot.

Steve glanced up at Tony, startled, and extremely embarrassed. "No, I'm fine. Thank you." Steve picked at the blanket underneath him. He blurted out, "You must bed a lot of women."

Tony's eyebrows raised. "I have had my share, Steve. Do you wish my advice?" Tony set down the chamber pot and approached Steve, putting his hands on Steve's shoulders in a friendly fashion. "A handsome young Musketeer such as yourself could have nearly any woman he wished. I know some very beautiful, very gentle girls who would be most understanding."

Steve was horrified; what was Tony offering, to find a whore for him? "No, no, I could never... I... One should respect and care for their bed mates. I could... I..." Steve felt a frenetic energy swell within him. Without another thought, he pushed Tony down onto the bed and kissed him, clumsily, passionately.

Tony froze for a long moment and Steve had a fleeting thought that he was glad Tony was a poor shot with a musket. Then Tony laughed and pulled Steve down onto himself. "So...you prove your courage, mon ami."

Steve was too overwhelmed to speak. He ran his hands over Tony, trying to touch as much of him as he could, kissing him and thrusting against him.

"Easy, easy... I'm not going anywhere." Tony started opening Steve's clothes. "Skin on skin is even better, Steve."

Steve made an effort to be less needy, less desperate. He slowly ran his hands over Tony's buttocks. So firm and smooth...

"That's it." Tony got Steve's trousers open and released his cock. "Ah..." He started stroking Steve, thumb rubbing against the damp tip. "Do you know what you want? Besides me."

Steve shook his head, then kissed Tony's throat, gently. He was so horribly aroused that it was embarrassing. It took so little. Tony would be unbearably smug at how very easily he had made Steve wild.

"There are many ways to love. I would be pleased to show you." Tony got a good grip and began pumping Steve's cock.

Steve gasped loudly, and came. He pressed his face against Tony's neck and squeezed his eyes closed. Tony must think he was totally ignorant of the pleasures of the body, at his age to have so little control. For the first time Steve regretted his sickly but proud beginnings in Gascony, too proud to accept pity from cheerful farm maidens. And later, when he had outgrown ill-health and been blessed with a perfect body, again he'd been too proud to tumble willing bar-maids and saucy laundresses who remarked upon his broad chest or muscled arms. No, he'd decided to keep himself pure until he found love... or at least an honest affection for _him_ , not what he looked like. He could have had experience and impressed Tony. "I'm sorry. I was too quick."

"Don't be sorry. That was very flattering." Tony brought up his other hand to run his fingers through Steve's hair.

Steve felt Tony's erect cock jerking against his belly, leaving damp traces on his skin. He moved to balance on his knees, freeing his hands to explore the soft skin over the hard flesh. It was much like his own, but different, the color darker; almost the shade of the plum on his breakfast tray, the curvetting leap when released off to the left instead of the right, as his own preferred. Steve wondered what Tony would permit. What were the many ways he liked. He touched Tony's sac, a warm velvet weight, and looked up for permission. Maybe Tony didn't like this. He knew he hated to take anything handed to him, was this the same? "May I?"

"Yes." Tony smiled. "You can touch me anywhere, Steve."

Steve became a little bolder, wrapping his fingers around Tony's cock and stroking. "Is that all right?"

"Oh, yes." Tony arched into Steve's hand. "That's very good."

Tony couldn't lie to save his life. That was one of the things Steve liked best about him. Under all the lace and velvet shine, he was a very direct man. Steve tugged and pulled and squeezed, watching closely for the moment when Tony would be totally open. For all Tony's experience, it didn't take very long before Tony arched up, shouting quite loudly enough to make Steve wish he'd given the innkeeper a larger coin.

"Do you love me?" Steve asked. His heart was pounding so hard he felt it in his throat. When Tony opened his eyes and smiled lazily back at him, Steve just knew he was going to make a horrible jest.

Tony patted his scarred chest, and then reached up to touch Steve in the same place. "Je t'offre mon coeur."

"Oh." Steve put his hand over Tony's and held it tightly. "I will keep it safe."


End file.
